Horror of the Hotel Rooms
by Shivased
Summary: A collection of one shots based on the Winchester's worst hotel rooms ever.
1. Attack of the Pink

**A/N: This just begged to be written. This will be multi-chapter, and each chapter will probably be a separate story. Some humour, some hurt/comfort, from both boys' point of view. Basically a series of stories based around the Winchester's most horrific hotel rooms and how injury or sickness has forced them to stay in them. **

**If you have a motel room you'd like to see, let me know!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own the boys, as usual. And I certainly don't own the hotel rooms. If they resemble any real motels the similarity is just a coincidence and my apologies that you have such a horrible motel room. I'm not basing them on anything.**

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Sam Winchester accepted the key from the man at the motel's front desk and hurried back out to the car where an in pain and impatient Dean was waiting for him, tucked up in the back seat supported by pillows to ease the strain on his broken ribs and badly pulled and strained back and shoulders, courtesy of being strung up by his wrists for two days, then flung around by said wrists like a rag doll.

"'bout time. What the hell took you so long?" Dean complained with a sour look on his face when Sam settled behind the wheel, started the car and headed around back to their room at the Sunshine Inn.

"Sorry. The guy thought we were together and kept trying to sell me the honeymoon suite," Sam replied in irritation. He hated it when people assumed. It had taken him ten minutes to convince the guy that he and Dean were brothers.

He pulled the car into the designated space and climbed out. "I'm going to get our bags in the room and then I'll come back and help you, ok?" he called to Dean. When Dean just grumbled and closed his eyes, turning his head into the pillow against the back seat Sam opened the trunk and pulled out all their bags. Slinging them over his shoulders he hurried to the room door and unlocked it, pushed it open and stepping inside.

And stopping dead, his jaw hitting the floor and the bags dropping to the carpet in shock.

The room was pink.

And not a nice pink. Not tasteful, or even frilly which he thought he might be able to live with. No, it was PINK. Fluorescent pink walls that hurt his eyes to look at, salmon pink furniture and a bedspread to match the walls, with red and variously coloured pink hearts on it. The curtains were yet another shade of pink, and the gaudy half-wall-half-wrought-iron divider that separated the bedroom from the small kitchen sported white wrought-iron twirls and hearts with glass beads in various colours of pink.

Blinking in an effort to stop his eyes from watering Sam set the bags down on the pink and white Formica table next to the door and gingerly crossed the deep pink carpet to the door of the bathroom. Peering inside confirmed his worst fears. The chipped and stained tiles on the walls were the same fluorescent pink as the walls in the bedroom, with white intermingled for variety. The countertop was a stained fuchsia paled to an almost lavender colour with age. A pink linoleum floor with white dots, pale pink bath mats and a matching pink with white dots shower curtain completed the decor.

Daring to hope it couldn't get any worse Sam moved out and into the kitchen where he saw to his horror that even the coffee maker, fridge, and small stove hadn't escaped. They had obviously once been white but had been painted pink to match everything else. A quick check showed even the cups and plates in the cupboard were pink and the silverware had pink plastic handles, though they were a more pale pearl-y white that he could tolerate at least.

It was hard to take and Sam almost considered turning around and checking out. There had to be another motel besides the Best Western – which was currently way out of their price range – in this town. But then he thought of Dean and sighed. Dean couldn't be moved. He was in terrible shape, unable to use his arms or move without considerable pain. Traveling, even to the next town – even over to the Best Western – was out of the question for him. The ride from the hospital had been pure agony and Sam wasn't going to put Dean through that again.

Of course staying in the room for the week the doctor had said Dean would need before he could travel to Bobby's would be pure agony as well, Sam thought as he went back outside to get Dean.

"What took you so long? Is there something wrong with the room?" Dean asked when Sam eased open the door. He was lying facing the road, his back to the door, and couldn't move enough to crane his neck around and look in.

"You gotta see it to believe it," Sam replied. Reaching in he eased Dean up as gently as possible, settling his brother's useless arms on his lap. They'd have to put the slings on later. "Ready?"

"Yeah, just get it over with. Faster hurts less than slower," Dean replied through clenched teeth. "How bad is having to see it to believe it?"

"Just wait and see. I think my eyes burned out of my head." Sliding his arm under Dean's legs and one around his shoulder Sam lifted his brother. Walking aggravated Dean's back too much, so carrying it would be for the next few days. Dean grunted and buried his face in Sam's neck, eyes scrunched tight in pain at being moved, but Sam walked quickly and in a matter of two minutes was easing Dean down on one of the double beds.

He patted his brother's thigh and hurried back outside, grabbing all the pillows and bringing them back in. When he got back inside he found Dean staring around the room, eyes wide with horror. "Dude, we are not staying here."

"There's nowhere else Dean, and you can't travel. We don't have a choice." Sam tried to sound reasonable, but inside was screaming the same thing as Dean.

"It looks like Barbie threw up all over the place in here!" Attempting to shove himself up and leave Dean choked off a cry of pain and sagged back.

Instantly Sam was there, shoving the pillows from the car around him, elevating his arms and propping him up on the fluffy softness so that the lumpy, hard bed wasn't pressing into his sore body. "It sucks but we have to stay here. You can't travel, you know that. Don't tell me you can, either," Sam added when Dean opened his mouth to protest. "I heard you on the drive here. We'll go to Bobby's when you can drive for a few hours at a time. Three days tops, man."

Dean just glowered as Sam tugged the pink blanket over him, kicking his legs and smothering a groan when the movement sent a jolt up his spine and into his shoulders. "I gotta pee," he explained to Sam's irritated huff.

"Oh, ok. Sorry. Here, let me get you up." The process was fairly smooth. Dean squeezed his eyes shut when they entered the bathroom, muttering under his breath about froo-froo and murdering whoever invented the colour pink. Sam helped him complete his business in a brusque, detached manner that spoke of experience doing the same thing over the years and saved them any embarrassment. Within ten minutes Dean was done and back in bed, glaring murder at the pink TV set.

"How can anyone be sick enough to do this?" he asked suddenly while Sam was in the kitchen making coffee and putting a can of soup on in a pink pot. He had been disgusted to find out even the complimentary tiny pots of creamer in the fridge were pink, and the sugar was doused with pink colour crystals. Just Great; he was going to have to drink pink coffee too.

"I dunno, Dean," he replied absently, carrying the tray of soup and coffee over to his brother and setting it down beside him. Dean just sent a mutinous look at the dishes and spoon.

"Is there anything that isn't pink in this bloody place?"

Sam spooned some soup into Dean's mouth, gave him some coffee and shook his head. "Nope. I checked. Everything is pink. The silverware is the best there is." He held up the spoon to show Dean the pearly pale pink handle. "That's as good as it gets."

Dean just groaned and let his head flop back into the pillow. "Kill me now, please?"

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

It was actually four days before Dean could travel anywhere. By then he could shuffle across the room to the bathroom like an arthritic ninety year old, but still needed Sam to help so he didn't fall over and he still needed help since he couldn't use his arms, which had been placed in slings. Everywhere he went he glared murderously at a piece of the furniture or decor.

He'd made Sam go out to the dollar store and buy cheap plastic table cloths in green, blue and black, and cover every surface with them. The bed sported the army blanket from the trunk thrown over the pink bedspread and they were eating out of plastic dishes and cups from the same dollar store as the table cloths. Even the TV was covered, a navy blue table cloth taped onto it so only the screen was visible.

Coming in from loading the car and readying the back seat Sam glanced around at the bare surfaces. Dean had insisted the heart decorations be put in the closet where they had discovered a rainbow of pink coloured satin clothes hangers, and a pink tinted mirror on the inside of the door.

"God, get me out of here," Dean moaned the minute Sam stepped back inside. Sam was just as eager to get out of the room, which Dean had dubbed Barbie's puke pot, and to the next town. He'd spent a couple nights at the local pool halls and earned them some cash. It would be enough to get them to Bobby's with a little left over for later. Contrary to Dean's teasing remarks he was good at hustling pool.

Hauling Dean up slowly and easily Sam walked beside him, his arm around Dean's shoulders, as the older Winchester slowly shuffled out of the room, eased him onto his nest of pillows in the back seat and climbed in behind the wheel. He didn't spare a glace in the rearview mirror as he peeled away.


	2. The Pie, it Calls to Me

**Chapter 2 – The Pie, it Calls to Me.**

**Author's Note: **My apologies for this chapter being so late. Somehow I lost my muse and didn't get it back until this came to me one night, thanks to Dean yelling "and bring me some PIE!" in All Hell Breaks Loose part 1

It sat there, on the dresser plain as day and bold as brass, mocking him. Mocking him in all it's apple glory. He wanted it, oh how he wanted it. It didn't matter that it was only painted ceramic; it looked oh-so-deliciously real and he wanted it so badly he was all but drooling over it.

"Dude, if you stare at that stupid ceramic pie any harder your eyes will fall out." Sam slammed the door to the motel room shut and glared around in distaste before setting the bag containing their lunch on the table.

"I can't help it. Did you bring me some pie?" Dean rasped hopefully, tearing his eyes away from the fake pie that sat so mockingly on the dresser and heaving himself up weakly to lean against the headboard.

"No, I got you chicken broth and ice cream. You can't eat pie right now and you know it. Even if you could swallow it you'd never keep it down," Sam replied as he bustled around, setting the kettle on to boil for tea and gathering Dean's medications.

Dean just groaned and sank down a bit on the bed. Stupid tonsils. After three weeks with a sore throat it had gotten so bad Sam had dragged him to a clinic to see a doctor. It had turned into a doctor's visit where he'd been diagnosed with a throat infection and tonsillitis, and had resulted in surgery to remove his grossly swollen and inflamed tonsils. Now, he was stuck in bed in a hotel room where he was being taunted by a ceramic pie, unable to eat anything besides soup, tea, jell-o and ice cream, and even those hurt.

" Stupid tonsils, stupid throat infection, STUPID TONSILS!" Dean exclaimed, his weak voice rising to a squeak that passed for shouting currently, sending shards of pain down his abused throat. His muscles seized up and sent him into a round of coughing that had Sam at his side in seconds, easing him forward and rubbing his back, then pressing a glass of water on him.

"Thanks," Dean whispered as soon as he could, sagging back into the pillows.

"Here, eat your soup and then you can have the ice cream. It's cherry cheesecake," Sam replied, crossing the room and returning with a cup of soup and a spoon. Dean took it with a grimace and sent a glare towards the ceramic pie on the dresser.

"Wanted Mint Chocolate Chip," he groused as he dipped his spoon into the soup.

Sam Snorted. "Yeah, well it has chocolate chunks in it. I doubt you want to try eating those."

The torture had started when they'd found themselves in a small town with only one motel. They'd considered themselves lucky; the place was reasonably priced, clean and well maintained, with free internet and a continental breakfast that was home cooked by the little old lady that ran the place. She'd even given them a discount when she'd found out they were stuck there until Dean was well enough to travel to Bobby's for the rest period that had been a condition of him signing out AMA the day after his surgery.

Their luck had stopped right about there, at least as far as Dean was concerned. The little old lady had promised them the room was "the best. My favourite. I decorated it myself, and you boys will love it."

When they had entered Dean had all but died and gone to heaven. Everything was pie. The walls were a creamy tan, just the colour of the perfect pie crust, with a border along the ceiling of pies sitting on a windowsill. The bedspreads were the exact red of cherry pie filling, with the same creamy tan pie-crust colour trim, and on the walls hung pictures of pies of all the flavours imaginable. The plates in the kitchenette were all painted like pies, and on the dresser was the most beautiful and delicious looking ceramic apple pie Dean had ever seen in his life.

Now though, Dean was in his own personal hell on earth. Pie, pie, everywhere, and he couldn't eat a piece. He could barely keep down the soup and ice cream and tea Sam fed him regularly, never mind pie. Between his more-than-tender throat and the damn antibiotics that made him sick to his stomach, food was pure torture.

And that damn perfect looking ceramic pie was driving him slowly mad.

Taking the food Dean sipped at it slowly, letting the hot liquid soothe his throat. When he was done he handed the empty bowl back to Sam and accepted the tea, sipping at it the same as he had his soup, then the ice cream, which he'd quickly figured out was a perfect counterpoint to the hot tea and soup.

The entire time he didn't take his eyes off the ceramic pie. He had to have pie. If he didn't have pie, he'd go insane. Or he could just smash the stupid thing and be done with it, only that wouldn't help. For one he didn't have the strength to get out of bed even if he wanted to, and for two he'd probably have to pay for damages if he did that. Even if it was taunting him.

"Dean, stop staring at the bloody pie and go to sleep."

Grumbling at his brother and coughing again, Dean slurped the last of his tea, handed off the mug and let Sam settle him under the covers. As his eyes slipped closed he smiled. If he couldn't actually eat pie maybe he'd dream about it.

~* ~~ ~*~ ~~ *~

When the end of the week of bed rest rolled around Dean hummed happily to himself, stepping gingerly around the shattered pieces of ceramic lying on the carpet and settling a fifty dollar bill under a shard of crust on the dresser, to pay for damages. Pulling on his coat he sank back down on the bed. Damn, he'd used up all his energy just with that little bit of movement.

The door opening and the quiet curse alerted him to Sam returning. "I can't believe you did it Dean. You know this isn't going to get you pie, right?"

"Yup, I know. But I feel better now," Dean whispered in reply. Sam just sighed and stepped around the pie, hauled him up and helped him out to the car, settling him in the passenger seat with the old army blanket wrapped around him.

Just as Sam was climbing into the driver's seat the motel owner came bustling out of her office, a box in her hand. "Oh, I caught you boys! Here, a gift for the road. You seemed to enjoy that room so much I thought I'd give you something to remember your stay by."

Handing the box through Sam's window she watched as the box was handed to Dean, who curiously opened it. If it wasn't for years of experience hiding his real reactions from people he might have cried in horror.

Inside the box sat a perfect, delicious looking ceramic apple pie.


End file.
